Forget the Future
by whodreamedit
Summary: One shot/Gift fic for Lovely Helena.  Extended/alternate ending to the Halloween-on-the-beach scene.  Violet's always wondered how she'd lose her virginity...


Violet Harmon had often considered how she'd lose her virginity.

Mostly she'd figured it would be either anticlimactic (both literally and figuratively), or downright crap. Then there were the moments where she'd truly believed it might never, ever happen. She wasn't the friendliest person, after all. In fact, she was downright misanthropic; people sucked. She wasn't interested in them, for the most part - so the idea that she might someday have a boyfriend (never mind a boyfriend who actually wanted to fuck her) seemed laughably improbable.

And generally, she acted like she didn't care. So what if she wasn't popular? So what if no boys at her old school had ever asked her out (or even paid her the tiniest bit of attention - so what if they'd never cat called her, or shouted lewd comments at her in the halls)? Like it mattered. There were more important things in life.

Except she did care, of course. Secretly, deep down, underneath all those layers of sarcasm and aloofness, she cared a whole fucking lot.

And then they'd moved - and it was just the same. She'd held onto some vague hope that LA would be different, but the kids at her new school were just as bland and uninteresting as the kids in Boston. She didn't like to admit it to herself, but she'd kind of hoped maybe she'd meet someone she could connect with. Someone who liked the same shit she did, who appreciated her unique outlook on life, who wasn't so fucking stupid. But of course not. LA was fake and plastic, the kids were bitchy and mean, or just outright ambivalent to her continued existence.

And then she'd met Tate.

She wasn't sure if she liked him at first. She knew she was fascinated by him, drawn to him...it was hard not to be. He was...weird. Charismatic, in his own off beat way. But she hadn't really stopped to consider whether she liked him. That seemed of little importance in comparison to all the other things he made her feel; curious, sometimes kind of freaked out, and kind of...well. Turned on.

He seemed to get her. That was infinitely more important than whether or not he was nice. Who cared about nice, or safe? Those were weak sentiments for the kind of relationships that stupid people craved. If she was going to fall in love, she wanted it to be hard and fast and wild. She wanted 1990s rock and roll love. The kids at her school could keep their squeaky clean, pseudo-rebellious prime-time TV romance.

And tonight they were on a date. On their first actual real date, their first time hanging out someplace other than the cramped, creepy basement.

They'd been watching the waves in silence for some time, lying in the sand side by side. Violet could feel Tate next to her, the electricity between them palpable. She could hear him breathing.

They'd kissed before, of course. Their relationship had evolved fairly quickly from awkward conversation and lingering stares to something more intimate, more physical. Violet couldn't even remember the first time he'd touched her, it had all happened to seamlessly, so naturally. A hand on her wrist, thumbing her scars had turned into hands on her waist, mouth on her mouth.

But it wasn't yet so common that she didn't feel awkward now - didn't feel the pulse of adrenaline through her body, a nervous shake in her legs that made her really glad she was lying down, and not standing up.

In the darkness, Tate reached out and took her hand. It was a small gesture, the pad of his thumb stroking over her knuckles, but enough to make her heart rate pick up.

Maybe this was it. As far as virginity-losing scenarios went, 'on a beach' was a little more stereotypical than she'd imagined, but it could be worse. What kind of underwear was she wearing? Oh shit, she hoped it wasn't the Hello Kitty ones...

Tate propped himself up on one arm, leaning over her. She rested her elbows on the sand, leaned up slightly.

"Hey..." it sounded stupid, even to her. God, why was she so awkward?

Mercifully, he didn't laugh at her. He smiled, reached out with his free hand to brush the hair out of her eyes.

"Hey." he replied, before closing the gap between them, brushing his lips against hers gently, then harder, his hands deep in the sand either side of her shoulders, his body hovering above hers.

Violet opened her mouth against his, kissed him back, her hot pink tongue exploring the inside of his mouth. She was always worried she wasn't very good at this stuff, but Tate didn't seem to be complaining. He straddled her thighs, hips pressing against hers, taking one hand from the ground to cup her breast, squeezing it gently.

Violet let out a soft moan, squirming beneath him. She was sure she could feel him, a hardness concealed by baggy, threadbare jeans, and just the thought of that - the idea that she'd made him hard - drove her a little crazy. She'd thought about this plenty of times when she'd been alone in her bedroom, one hand stroking herself lazily through her panties till she got wet just imagining how fucking Tate might feel.

And here they were. Hesitantly, Violet reached a hand out between them, snaking down below Tate's sweater to the bulge in his pants, palming it gently. Tate's breath hitched, his body tensing, stilling for only a moment before he began kissing her again, harder, his hand dropping to her waist, tugging up the fabric of her dress.

Violet fumbled with the buttons on Tate's jeans, managing just barely to pop them open, reaching for the zipper, her hand slipping inside to work him through the fabric of his briefs. Tate gave a soft sigh of pleasure, breaking the kiss, nipping at her neck playfully. And without even really thinking about it - or the implications of it - Violet's hand was tugging down Tate's jeans, tugging down his underwear, splaying her palm over his rock hard erection.

Tate stopped.

Violet looked up at him, breathing heavily, her mouth hot, lips pulsing from their kisses. He was looking down at her, his brows knit together, eyes dark.

"...are you okay...?" it seemed strange for her to be asking him that. Wasn't it usually the other way around?

"Sure." he nodded, dropped his gaze from hers.

"Tate...I want to."

He seemed to hesitate. Violet's hand had stilled on his cock, still holding it, but not daring to do much more than ever so gently stroke it. Of course. This would be the part where he got cold feet, or told her ha ha, it was all just some hilarious joke. Of course he didn't want her. Who would? Who would want someone as weird, as awkward, as Violet? She was all boy-like, small hips, little breasts, giant chip on her shoulder and a filthy mouth. It didn't take a genius to see that she was fucking troubled, and maybe she'd been wrong, maybe Tate didn't want troubled. He had enough problems of his own without having to deal with hers.

Her eyes sought his in the darkness. He was biting his lip, one hand still gripping her waist.

"Please, Tate..." her voice was softer now, almost pathetically pleading. She hated herself for this - for being so weak. It was so like her mom, to need to be wanted. She sighed heavily, almost about to push him off, almost about to tell him never fucking mind, whatever, get fucked then...

Tate's hand slid down her waist, over the exposed flesh of her bare thigh. He rubbed her gently through her panties, letting out a soft sound of pleasure as he noticed how wet she was. Quickly, expertly, he tugged her underwear down, positioning himself over her.

"Are you sure...?" he looked worried, she thought. It kind of surprised her, given how cocky he was usually - how confident. He seemed nervous...unsure - something dark behind his eyes, like he was fighting with himself.

Violet nodded, wordlessly, her hips arching up to meet his.

It hurt, but only for a minute. Not as much as she'd thought it would. The sound of the waves circled them, engulfed them, merged seamlessly with the cadence of their breath, the rhythm of their undulating bodies. Lost in the moment, gripping Tate tightly, hips crushing against his hard enough to bruise, Violet let herself forget the future. Who knew what came next for them. Anything could happen. Anything. For now, it was enough that she was wanted. That she was with Tate - with, like she'd never been with anyone before. For now, that was all that mattered.


End file.
